Broken Pieces
by AnomalyA11
Summary: "There's something terrifying about intimacy. Baring the soul, all the flaws and broken pieces, for eyes to ravage and hands to touch. Insecurities and fears on display. Witness the weak, pathetic trembling mess of me. Do you see it? Do you see me? I'm longing for the unknown. My heart is bursting from things I'm too petrified to show. I'm craving to be broken. Know me. Please."
1. Chapter 1

Lexa's POV

I sit on the brown cotton couch, fiddling with a stray thread. The same thread I always played with for a few years now. My therapist, Dr Granger, knows every neuron of my mind. I'm nervous. I woke up with a bit of anxiety. I cant quite pinpoint what I'm afraid of. I have been struggling with intimacy lately. Lately. HA. It's something I've struggled with my entire life. But between all the work I have done with my sponsor, the work I put in every day, and my therapist, the fear has decreased significantly.

I'm an alcoholic and an addict. To me, they're the same thing. To someone who isn't like me, clarification usually is needed. Once I start drinking and using, I can't stop. And when something would stop me, I would start again, no matter how much time had gone by or what was at stake. No matter how much I didn't want to. I always did it anyway. That's the nature of the beast. A disease of the mind. They even call it a mental illness now a days. They're right. Addiction is insanity. Repeating the same thing over and over again, expecting a different result; the story of my life. Having no control, no choice, no power. Most people don't realize that, that people like me are powerless. They always think we're just choosing to destroy ourselves and everyone around us. Are people like me selfish? Absolutely. An argument could be made that we're probably some of the most selfish people in existence, even when we're not using. But we have no control. We use even when we don't want to. I've held pills in my hand, screamed no to myself, dreading them going into my body, and I still swallowed them down. I had no will power; I still don't. But I'm rambling now. Let's get back to it.

For a long time, I didn't see abusing a substance as a problem. My parents are like me. I grew up with them throwing parties, witnessing them shooting up, smoking crack, guzzling beer; I had witnessed it all. I took care of my mother. She was the child and I was the mom. My father was gone for years of my life. My parents divorced when I was six and my mother got full custody. So I barely saw him. But chaos was in my life since I was brought into this world. I never realized everything around me wasn't "normal" until I ventured out in the world.

I've gone through trauma, all kinds of abuse and neglect. So my fear of intimacy with another human being, any kind of intimacy, is almost a given. But I've been sober over five years now and a lot of the walls I've put up have crashed down.

My AA sponsor was the first person I met in a very long time that I instinctively trusted. I looked into her eyes and she smiled at me with such love, care and understanding. That was all it took. I remember she grabbed my hand and squeezed it gently in a comforting manner. I knew in my soul that this woman was supposed to be a part of my life and I was supposed to be a part of hers. I became a blubbering idiot when I spoke to her. All my pain, my anger, my deep dark secrets, rushed out of my mouth in her presence. I told her everything. I let her see the person I really am. I bared my broken pieces to her and she gathered them up like a mother picking up their child in a loving embrace. Even when I've resisted, even when I've convinced myself I can't tell her things because she'll finally see the monster I am and run, I've told her eventually. And every time she smiles at me and says, "Thank you and I love you more for being honest with me."

True intimacy is what I experienced with her. I still experience it with her. She was the first person to get to me since I was a small child. The first one I allowed in my heart after years of dark and icy isolation. She knew me before I said a word. And she loved me unconditionally before she knew me.

Intimacy with my sponsor is almost second nature now. I still get afraid. I still sometimes convince myself that if I tell her things she'll be disappointed or that she'll be disgusted with me and hate me, or leave me. It never fails though. She always thanks me and tells me she loves me more. Then she calls me out on my shit and gives suggestions on how to move forward with whatever it is I bring to her. And I take it all willingly, even if I don't like it. I listen to her. Which is huge for me. I never listened to anyone, ever. Everything she does, she does out of love and to help me because she cares about me and my life. I feel safe with her. I trust her. The love I have for her is like no other because the relationship a sponsor and sponsee share is so uniquely glorious. A sponsor is like a spiritual mother and guide. That relationship is a friendship that's like no other. You'll only truly understand it if you have that kind of relationship. She put my hand in God's hand. I'll be eternally grateful. It's a debt I can never repay. A debt she never expects payment for. It's the same thing I do for others now, and I understand it from the other side. There's a special love and bond that's shared between addicts and alcoholics. When you sponsor someone and do your best to put their hand in God's hand, you're witnessing a miracle take place. You get to be a part of a miracle. There's no payment necessary or wanted.

I've gained intimacy with friends as well. I was completely determined to not have any when I first got sober. I'm a lesbian. It's a small part of who I am, but it's a big part of why I didn't want friends. Most of my friends growing up were men. Women scared me. I only talked to a woman if I liked her or wanted something from her. When I started dating women, I got angry. My relationships with women would fall apart and I always viewed it as their fault. They were the ones who lied, cheated and caused harm. I was a gentlewoman. I maybe did like two things wrong in all of my sexual relationships. Clearly, I was full of myself and I couldn't see the truth.

As I was going through my steps, I was forced into friendly relationships with women. I would refuse to talk at all. When I started talking, it was never about anything serious or vulnerable. These women I was around, even though I wasn't attracted to them or wanted anything from them, made me nervous. I had a false belief system; that all women only wanted to use me and hurt me. Maybe I believed that because of my mother and our relationship. Maybe I believed it because it's all I ever did to other women. Maybe it was both. In any case, it's what I believed. But the further along I got in my step work, the more I let my guard down. Today, the friends I have are my sisters, they're my family, and I have no fucking idea what I would do without them. Now I can have intimacy with friends, male and female.

I've had a few relationships in sobriety. Let's just say, they were not healthy. There was lying, cheating, manipulation, break ups and getting back together. There were secrets, betrayal, a plethora of broken trust and issues from both sides. I've learned a lot from those relationships. But now I find the idea of that kind of relationship repulsing to a certain extent.

Don't get me wrong, I want true unconditional love with a partner. A part of me craves it. To have a woman by your side who wants and desires the person you are, who caresses and kisses all your broken parts, who is your friend and lovingly calls you out on your bullshit, who holds you close to comfort you while you cry and allows you to do the same for her, and is always your equal, never better, never worse; I dream of having that kind of relationship. But I don't feel safe with the idea either.

My last relationship, I was with the same woman on and off for about three years. There were good times. We were in love once. There was attraction and desire. But I wasn't happy. I don't believe she was either. I opened up to her more than I have with a woman in that kind of relationship. I decided that I was going to marry her, that I was going to live and die by that woman. Even though I didn't really want it. Even though I was also in love with someone else at the same time. Even though we had cheated on each other, lied to one another, hid things from each other and betrayed each other. But God did me a solid. I found out she had been drinking for months and she didn't want to be sober. So I left. It wasn't even a thought to stay. And I'm grateful for that.

Now, I don't believe God made her relapse. I don't believe shit works that way. I do believe God had me move in with her to see the truth. You see, I had been praying to God to remove whatever was blocking me from Him. I couldn't see it then, but that relationship was in my way. Her and I had learned what we could from each other, and it was time to let go.

The fact that I left right away, right after she told me, was huge for me. My entire life, I would never walk away from a woman. Between my codependency and the belief that no one else could ever love me, I would stay no matter what. But I want God above all things now, and sobriety comes right under that. She was threatening both those things. And poof, I left just like that.

I've been single over a year now. That might not sound like a lot to some, but it's been long for me. I've never been sober and single this long. I've barely even flirted with women. It's happened, absolutely. Once my heart was healed and had let go of my ex, I started putting myself out there. And another weird thing is happening. I've talked to a few women, but as soon as they start playing games, I cut it off. I've never done that in my life either. Chasing someone and trying to prove I could get them to love me, want me, need me, above anyone else use to be one of my favorite things in the entire world. It was a way I tired to prove to myself and everyone else that I was worthy and adequate. I don't want to do it anymore. Here's the bad side to that though. The few times I've started talking to a woman and that's happened, now I tell myself that all women aren't safe to be with in that manner. The mind can be a really fucked up thing. At least, my mind is. It's always trying to fuck me up and kill me.

I hear the door open and I look up. As the door clicks behind Dr Granger, I take her in. She's older, in her fifties. She has some wrinkles on her face from smiling too much, but that's a beautiful thing to me. Her orange-red hair is in a messy bun, as usual. She clings her notebook to her chest and she sit across from me in a giant brown chair. Placing the book in her lap, she looks me in the eyes and smiles. I smile back whole heartedly. She has a warm, motherly smile. It always fills me up with joy. Dr Grange pushes her black rimmed glasses up her nose and clears her throat before speaking. "How are you?"

"I'm alright," I say as I shrug my shoulders. "There's nothing bad going on in my life. I'm just a bit anxious today."

"Why?"

"I… I'm not really sure," I look away from her to gather my thoughts. When my eyes land on her again, I take a deep breath before speaking. "I'm afraid of women. Not as a whole. I mean, uh, I'm afraid to date."

Her brows furrow momentarily. "Are you speaking with someone?"

"No, not right now."

"Then why are you afraid?"  
"Well I…" Another deep breath goes down my throat. I'm just as confused by my statement as she is. "I'm interested in someone."

"Oh?" She quips happily.

"Stop, don't give me that look," I roll my eyes. "I barely know her. I've seen her the past month at a meeting I've been speaking at."

"Have you spoken?"

"Not really. She comes up and thanks me after the meeting is over. I try not to look at her, but my eyes always end up on her before and after the meeting. When I do look, she's already staring at me most of the time."

"So why haven't you spoken to her?" the doctor asks me. The look she's giving me is almost screaming at me, calling me an idiot.

"I'm afraid," weasels it's way out of my mouth. "She's stunning. She's physically attractive, but that's not what I mean when I say she's stunning. The few times I've watched her interacting with others, she's always just… listening, intently. Like she cares about everything she's being told. She patiently waits to hear everything someone says and then does everything she can to help them if they need it. I can feel God just oozing off her. She seems so gentle and kind. Her entire aura captivates me."

"So you're watching her from afar?"

"When you say it like that, I sound like a stalker."

"Are you following her around and learning all her habits and routines?"

"What?! NO!" I shout in disbelief. It takes me a moment to see the humor on her face. I roll my eyes again. "That's not cool Dr Granger."

"It was a serious question mixed with some humor," she giggles lightly. "But if you're not doing those things, you're not stalking her. You're intrigued, interested. There's nothing wrong with that. Try and have a conversation with her."

"We spoke a little last night."

"And?"

"Well, I was outside after the meeting. She walked up to me and introduced herself. Her smile melted me. And when we shook hands it shocked me in a way. I introduced myself and she busted my balls. She said I've only been listening to you for a month now."

"Did that bother you?"

"No," I stared off in thought for a moment. "It wasn't meant in a mean way. I could feel that. Come on, we both know I'm sensitive, but I'm not that sensitive….. not anymore." The doctor almost laughs at me again. "I told her that I wanted to formally introduce myself and she just smiled wider at me. Before the conversation could go any further, her phone rang. She said it was her sponsee calling and that she would love to continue our conversation next week."

"How do you feel about all of that?"

"Excited. Nervous. Afraid."

"What are you afraid of?"

When the answer pops up, I get annoyed with myself. It's something that's interfered with my life, time and time again. Dr Granger notices my changed demeanor and waits patiently for me to answer. "I'm afraid she'll get to know me, see who I really am and reject me. And then I'll be hurt."

"Come on Lexa," the doctor says as she rolls her eyes. "You need to stop. When are you going to find acceptance for yourself?"

"I do accept myself," I blurt out, agitated. "I just don't love myself as much as I should, I guess. I love myself and I accept myself, but I don't love everything about me."

"Lexa, what does your sponsor say?" I hate it when she asks me that. Dr Granger is in recovery; it's how I met her in the first place.

"She told me to pray and talk to God about it, meditate, do estimable acts, do self-care and to go help somebody. She also said that there's clearly something I'm not willing to let go off when it comes to feeling inadequate. I've worked on it with you, I've done millions of inventories on it with her, and it's still there."

"Why do you think you're holding on to it?"

"Besides the fact that I believe it's true?" I bit at her. I automatically felt bad; how I feel isn't her fault. "I apologize. I have no right to speak to you that way."

She gave me another warm, motherly smile. "I forgive you. Please, continue."

"I feel like I believe it's a part of who I am. That I am just inadequate. I've had that in me for so long. I don't even know how to start and let it go."

Dr Granger sighs and drops her notebook on to the floor. "Listen Lexa, I've been meaning to tell you, I don't think you need to come here anymore."

"What?' I ask in shock. "Why?" I can hear the hurt in my voice, and I bet it's written all over my face.

"Sweetheart, you don't need it anymore," she begins soothingly. "You've been coming here for a few years. We've worked on all your trauma. I can't offer you anything anymore. I've done my part. I've done all I can as a therapist. This last thing you're struggling with is only going to get resolved between you and God. I love you and I'm always here for you. And now we can be friends, sober sisters."

"I thought we already were friends," I say dejectedly.

"Stop it," she says as she gets up. "We can be real friends now. You can come to my fourth of July barbeque."

"Really?!" the excitement in my voice mimics a child being told they can have ice cream. I stand up and she hugs me. I hug her back. "Does this mean I can go to your awesome homegroup now?"

Dr Granger laughs at me as she pulls away. "Yes, it does."

"Alright, then I accept your terms."

"Like you had a choice," she says as she lightly smacks my arm.

"Abuse!" I shout teasingly. She smacks me again and we both laugh.

I open her office door and walk out into the small waiting room. I look up from my feet and I stop dead in my tracks. There's a receptionist's desk and the woman I was just talking about is hovering over it, doing something on the computer. Her shoulder length blonde hair is slightly falling in her face as she bites her lip in concentration. I begin to hold my breath and my shoulders tense. I guess she feels the new bodies in the room because she looks up. Piercing blue eyes are staring in to mine with surprise and intrigue, maybe even some delight. Her lips curl into a half smile as she takes me in, causing me clench and unclench my fingers.

"Well hello, Lexa," Clarke says to me. Her eyes look at the doctor behind me and her smile changes from teasing to loving. "Hey Auntie."

"You two know each other?" Dr Granger asks as she walks by me and stands next to the goddess in front of me.

"Yeah, I've been going to the meeting she's speaking at for the past month. She's doing a step series. I'd say you should come because it's fucking awesome, but you won't if she's a patient."

"Actually, she's no longer my patient," the doctor says as she walks behind Clarke to the other side of the desk. "Today was our last session. She doesn't need me anymore."

"Lies. She's kicking me out," I say sarcastically.

"That's cold Aunt Vic," the goddess says, jumping on to my humor.

"Yes, well, you can only listen to someone cry about their mother so many times," Dr Granger says, causing my mouth to drop. "What? Too soon?"

"No," I say as I laugh and smile. "I'm just shocked."

"Like I said, we can be friends now."

"Get ready to be reamed out," Clarke says, looking me dead in the eyes once more.

"Oh, she's already been doing it. I can't imagine it getting much worse."

"Trust me, it gets worse. Hey!" she lightly shouts as the doctor playfully slaps her arm.

"You're my niece," the doctor starts, "She's my friend. How I speak to you is not like how I speak to everyone else."

"I know. It doesn't mean you don't rip people new assholes. I see and hear you with other people. You're a savage," the goddess jokes, maintaining eye contact with me the entire time.

"I'm trying to tell you, she's been doing it to me this entire time," my smile widens. "I wouldn't have it any other way. I need more than one person calling me out on my asshole tendencies and telling me the truth."

I guess Clarke and I stood in silence staring at each other, because Dr Granger loudly clears her throat, catching our attention. "Do you want me to marry the two of you now or what?"

"Aunt Vic!" Clarke slaps her Aunt's arm again. She laughs but her cheeks are tinging red. I can feel my face on fire. I'm still staring at the woman in front of me though; I can't take my eyes off her.

"Well, you can stare more on Thursday. I invited Lexa to our annual barbeque," Dr Granger says while she's staring Clarke down with a look I can't quite identify. Its intrigue mixed with a warning maybe.

"That's exciting," the blonde looks at me again, smiling brightly.

"Alright, well, I'm gonna go now," I blurt out, feeling awkward from the look the doctor is giving me and her niece.

"Wait!" Clarke shouts as she grabs my arm to stop me from leaving, starling both me and the doctor. "What are you doing now?"

I stare at her again, this time in bewilderment. I can't believe she's asking if I'm busy. And I'm shocked by how good her hand gently wrapped around my forearm feels. "Nothing," I say. "I was just going to go home."

"Would you like to eat some lunch with me?" She smirks at me with hopeful eyes. I can't help but smirk back and nod my head 'yes.' "Awesome. Just give me a minute to get my things and I'll meet you outside." I nod my head again as I slowly pull my arm out of her hand. She looks surprised and blushes again; I don't think she knew she was still touching me.

Clarke's POV

I can barely contain the excitement I feel. There are butterflies in my stomach. As Lexa walks out the door, I turn around to grab my small backpack that's on the floor. I stand up straight and grab my keys off the desk. Before I can walk out, Aunt Vic grabs me to stop me. I turn to look at her and find curious blue eyes boring into me.

"What are you doing?" she asks me.

"I'm going to go eat with a woman I've been trying to work up the courage to ask out for a month," I say plainly. "What's wrong? You're acting defensive."

She lets go of me and pulls he glasses off her face. "I just want to know… your intentions, Clarke."

"You're asking your niece what her intentions are with an ex client of yours?" I ask, not really shocked. "Here I thought maybe you might be worried about me being taken advantage of."

Aunt Vic snorts at that, not being able to control her laughter. "Clarke, sweetie, you don't need protection. Especially not from Lexa. I'm honestly more worried about her then you."

"Why?" I ask as I realize maybe this gorgeous woman I've been pinning over might not even be in any position to potentially date someone. "Is she not okay?"

"No, she's better than okay. I just know you…" she takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of her nose. I know that action. She's trying to figure out how to say something offensive without being offensive; it never works. "Clarke, you've grown a lot. You're a completely different person than six months ago, and exponentially different from when you first got sober. I just want to know if you're trying to pursue something serious. Because if you're not, I would suggest not even bothering."

"Oh," I'm shocked. I was totally prepared for her to scold me because of my past. "Aunt Vic, I'm not trying to use her. I'm not trying to just have sex with her. I'm intrigued by her. I can't take my eyes off her when she's in the same room as me. I want to get to know her. I was going to ask for her number last night, but a sponsee called me so I walked away."

"Ah," my aunt says, some sort of realization hitting her. "Alright then." She walks around me to head back to her office.

"That's it?" I ask. I'm so use to her interrogating me and I don't know how to handle this.

"Yup," she says briskly. She turns around wearing a small smile. "I know Lexa. She's a beautiful person. I honestly hope this ends up going somewhere. If you're going to marry anyone, there's no one better than her, in my opinion."

"Who said anything about marriage?"

"I did. I'm predicting."

"Wow. After all the talks you've had with me about not making assumptions, there you go making a huge one," I tease her. I panicked for a second. I thought she was implying Lexa was looking to get married. Yes, I want that one day. But I don't go around looking for it. Women who do, in my experience, tend to be crazier than the rest.

"I've been around longer than you, child. I'm predicting. If I end up wrong, then I'm wrong. But I have a feeling about this." She's smiling smugly at me. I can't stand it when she does that. She's either right or ends up right when she gives me that smile. I shake off what she's saying. I don't want it to be floating around in my brain while I'm trying to figure out the gorgeous woman waiting for me outside.

"I'll see you at home Aunt Vic," I say as I quickly head out the door, not wanting to risk her mind fucking me anymore than she already has.

As I exit the office, I'm met with the rare, cool Florida breeze. I search the landscape and find Lexa directly in front of me a few feet away. I can never seem to notice what's right in front of my face. She turns and looks at me with this cute, timid smile. Her messy bun has a few stray pieces blowing in her face from the wind. I find myself having the urge to tuck the strands behind her ears. I walk up to her and stop inches away from her. I have restrain myself from tucking those stray strands of hair. I'm being bold. I mean, I've always been pretty forward with just about everything. But I've never gotten in someone's personal space so easily and so quickly. I normally maintain at least two feet from anyone when I'm first getting to know them. I seem to not be able to help myself. I'm captivated by her forest green eyes. They have speckles of gold and yellow; like the sun shining through the forest. "Are you ready?" I ask nervously. Her smile broadens and my heart begins pounding. She's searching for something in my eyes, but I don't know what she's looking for. "What are you doing?" I blurt out. I'm amazed by lack of self-control. I would normally tease or say nothing.

"I'm looking at you," Lexa says solemnly.

"You're looking at my eyes," I tease.

"No," she breathes, her face is a bit more serious now. "I'm looking at you," she points her finger at my chest, where my heart is. I suddenly lose my breath. I want to kiss her. Which to me, is crazy. The only time I've kissed someone quickly since I've been sober is when I'm just trying to get laid. And how I want to kiss her is different. It's not for gratification or lust. I want to kiss her tenderly. I'm so thrown off. I can't do anything but continue to stare with my mouth slightly open. She smiles again, a lighthearted smile. "Are we taking separate cars or driving together?"

I shake my head and smirk. I want to laugh. I have no idea why, but I want to. I'm trying to hold it back, but it comes out. Lexa's face lights up and I feel desire in a way I never have before. I shake my head again, this time at myself. I'm so all over the place but for some reason I don't mind it. "Well," I begin, staring into her eyes once more, "I came here with my Aunt. So together. In your car or in my imaginary one." She chuckles, and now I'm smiling so big that it hurts.

"Let me walk you to my car then," Lexa says warmly. She holds up her arm, like a gentleman in an old movie. I wrap my arm around hers and I can feel something beginning. I can't explain it really. I just feel it; a new beginning.


	2. Chapter 2

Clarke's POV

She's staring me in the eyes. They're green. A deep forest green, with specs of yellows and gold. I'm captivated. It's taking my breath away and making it hard to breathe all at once. I'm feeling God so strongly in this moment. Everything is easy. It flows. There's something building in my chest. Like a balloon is being filled with a divine heaviness that floats.

She's nervous. Her eyes shift occasionally from me to a random object when she starts talking about something close to her heart. But those emeralds fly right back to me after she swallows the fear down. Fear. I'm feeling it too. My palms are clammy. I keep adjusting my feet and legs, crisscrossing them in different ways in my chair. I've caught myself biting my lip a few times. And sometimes when I go to speak, I need take a deep breath first.

I can tell she's doing her best to be herself; to not hide. It's refreshing and nerve-racking. I'm not use to that. I do it, but I'm not use to it being reciprocated. There's almost always a game at first. That's how people operate. We're all unsure creatures, usually desperately seeking acceptance and love. It's hard to be who you are, especially when you're interested in someone in a personal, sexual manner. I don't think she realizes how nervous I am. If she does, she's not making it obvious. Then again, she doesn't know me. Her nervousness is obvious. She's awkward yet charming; stumbling over words and laughing at herself. It's making me want to grab her head and ravage her lips.

That scares me more. I don't usually get there that fast. If I'm interested in someone, I go for it. I get to know them and eventually those kinds of thoughts come. Sure, if I approach someone, I'm obviously attracted to them. And thoughts of kissing and other things do come up. But a fierce desire to throw them down on a table and have my way with them doesn't usually come that quickly. And it's more than that. I want to dissect her. Pick apart everything she is, examine and study every piece for hours on end, and then put it all back together. I find her endearing, adorable, cute. She's also intense, passionate and fucking sexy.

I find myself thinking it's not fair, the predicament between her and I. I've been listening to her speak for a little over a month. She's been doing a step series; sharing her life experiences on each step and the lessons she's learned, the trials she's gone through. I know a lot about her already.

I know she was raised by two addict/alcoholics. I know she's gone through trauma as a child and an adult. I know she's been in abusive relationships, sober and not sober. I know she's cheated, lied, manipulated, emotionally and mentally abused others, and crossed so many boundaries sober. And the fact that she's willing to share that all in a room full of people, to be transparent and honest, shows me what kind of person she is.

In twelve step recovery, the goal is to attempt to be honest, loving, patient, tolerant, understanding, compassionate, forgiving and selfless in every situation in a person's life. It's not going to happen all the time. We all fall short. But the point is in the attempt. The fact that she lays it all bare in a room full of people, show's the attempt. It show's she's working to be better. And it reflects on her relationship with God. Action is where it all shows.

I'm not an idiot. It could all be a show. But when someone is sincere, you can feel. Especially if you're like them. You can't manipulate a manipulator and you can't bullshit a bullshitter. And I've gone to the depths of hell; hit lows that some would find unimaginable. I'm pretty good at reading people.

She keeps asking me questions about myself. The intrigue and curiosity on her face as she waits for an answer is making me smile. The excitement that flashes in her eyes when I tell her something new is stirring a feeling I haven't felt in a long time. Every answer I give to a question, she asks a question about my answer. She's smiling so brightly, seemingly so happy to just be speaking with me. Dear God, help me. I can feel it. The sensations, those feelings. I really hope this is all real.

"What do you do for a living?" Lexa asks me before sipping her coffee.

"I'm a therapist."

"What kind of therapy do you practice?"

"Sex therapy."

She cocks her eyebrow; a mischievous smirk is forming on her lips. I can see the humor in thoughts racing across her eyes. "Anything specific?"

"Sexual trauma and abuse. Couples therapy with sex issues. Personal sex issues."

"Sex addiction?"

"If I'm getting to know someone, and I see a sex addiction, I recommend a twelve step fellowship. I can only help with the mental. I have no experience with that kind of addiction. What about you? What do you do for a living?"

"I work in a spiritual immersion program," she says with a huge smile. I can't help but love how happy she is about it.

"That's treatment?"

"Uhhh," she bites her lip and averts her eyes momentarily to think. God, I wanna kiss her again. "No. It's hard to explain. We're technically a spiritual retreat. We take people through their steps. They have lectures about God, different fellowships and their literature, spiritual books, mechanics of step work, call them out on their bullshit and share experience on how we've been able to change and grow. We have mostly people come in straight out of detox, but we do get people who come in for a tune-up, so to say. We concentrate on the spiritual solution for the disease we all have and suffer from. But we also take them to meetings, throw events that are open to anyone in recovery. We take them out to have fun so they can see life is most definitely enjoyable sober. There's nothing clinical about it. I see it as a safe place to do your steps for the first time, or to do them again. Their only job when they're in there is to do the work, develop and work on their relationship with a God of there understanding, and work on being a better human being. I went through there when I first got sober. It gave me a solid foundation and taught me how to live, how to be a person really. I didn't know how to be one. I was so far gone. I needed it. Some other people need that experience too."

"I think I understand it. A bunch of spiritual practices and step work. Is that about right?"

"Yup."

She's smiling like a giddy child. I notice our hands are inches apart on the table. I want to touch her so badly. I take a deep breath to try and get my emotions under control. I was already so fucking attracted to her, and her joy and excitement over all things God and helping other people related is making it so much worse. I would have been disgusted before. If you had asked me seven years ago if what I looked for in a person was a relationship with God and working a program, I would have rolled my eyes and laughed hysterically. But right now, I'm so turned on in every fucking way and I almost can't stand it. I'm pretty sure my heart even has a boner right now.

"What made you want to be a sex therapist?"

"I've always had sex issues," I take a breath. Did I just say that? Might as well be honest, right? "I was raped and molested a few times throughout my life. Just like a lot of other women. I started drinking and using around fourteen. I figured out I liked men and women around sixteen. I was raised in a super religious family. It was always such a conundrum to me that my parents were hippies but had issues with homosexuality and bisexuality. Like, how is it okay to have massive orgies and random sex with strangers, but not okay to have sex or be in love with a woman?" I ask that last sentence sarcastically. Her eyebrow raises again in sarcasm and she shrugs her shoulders. There's a flash of fear in her eyes. I take a mental note to ask her about it. "It's confusing, isn't it? It confused the hell out of me. Because my parents did have orgies and swap partners when I was growing up. There was talk of sex and kinky toys all around. So, all of that on top of the things that happened while I was using and drinking warped my perception and confused me."

There's a moment of silence. I quickly realize she's waiting for me to say more. She's not interested in speaking right now, just learning about me. And now all I want to do is rip her clothes off. I shake my head and wonder if maybe I'm developing a sex problem. Or if I'm a teenager all over again. I lightly laugh at myself. I look into her eyes and she's looking at me like I'm the most interesting person in the world. She's still patiently waiting, so I continue. "When I went to college, I picked psychology as my major. I was desperately trying to understand and make sense of a lot of things; mainly myself. I went to college when I was seventeen. I got my bachelors and I finished when I was twenty-one. I hit my bottom quick after that. I decided to take a break and travel and it just got so ugly. I don't remember much. I was so high all the time. But the drugs and alcohol stopped working. I tried to kill myself and it didn't work. I ended up in a treatment facility and I've been sober ever since. I got the rest of my schooling and hours in sober. And here I am."

"How smart are you?" Lexa asks with a half-smile as she starts to braid her hair. I start to think about how I want to run my hands through it, play with it, grab it and pull. I swallow and I can feel my cheeks burning a little bit.

"I'm not a genius. I was just desperate to leave my home."

"I feel like you're downplaying your intelligence level right now, but I'll let it slide for now."

"Oh, well thank you," I say sarcastically with a grin.

"Yes, yes, it's an honor to have my approval, I know," she says with fake arrogance as she finishes her braid. I start to laugh. Her sense of humor is very cheesy. I love it. "Did I give you permission to laugh at me?" She quirks her head to the side, a blank expression on her face. I laugh again before mimicking her expression.

"I'm an independent woman and I do what I want. I need no one's permission to do a damn thing."

"So you just do what you want all of the time whenever you feel like it?"  
"Yup," I cross my arms over my chest and give a defiant look.

"Ut oh," her face breaks into a teasing smile. "That's never good. At least, it hasn't always turned out well for me. Usually what I want isn't very good for me."

I drop my hands back on the table and smile. She's ridiculous. "Yes, well, I'm the exception. Everything I want is always great for me. And everything I do is always right."

"Oh my God, it's you!" she suddenly exclaims, placing one hand over her open mouth. "I didn't know it was you I got down on my knees and prayed to every night!"

I roll my eyes at her and laugh. "Shut up." She's laughing so hard she snorts. She doesn't even react to it. I guess it must happen enough for her to not care or not notice. She's more adorable now. I'm smiling so big at her my cheeks are starting to hurt. Her laughing is dying down and her eyes open. They lock with mine and I lose my breath once more. A comfortable silence wraps around us. I'm losing myself in her eyes. I notice her biting her lip and it's taking everything in me to not get up out of my seat, reach across the table, and pull her lips to mine. I start to take her in. Her breathing is quicker. The look on her face is devastating. Her eyes keep shooting down at my lips and I can see the fire burning within her. She wants to kiss me, badly. I can feel it. I can feel her. That sounds crazy to me, but I can.

She's holding back. This entire time we've been talking, she's been careful. Not with her questions or answers, not even with her body language. But her eyes have stayed respectful. I haven't caught her looking me up and down once. And I've been staring at her since we drove to this coffee shop. She's gone out of her way not to touch me. She even ran over to open my door for me when we were getting out of her car. She's being a gentlewoman. I can tell, in this moment, with how she's looking at me, she's waring with herself. She wants to kiss me. She wants to throw away any set of rules or beliefs she has for herself and how she should behave. But she won't. I just know that she won't. That makes me want to smash those rules of hers to dust. She doesn't know that the more I'm getting to know her combined with her treating me like a person and not as an object, is driving me out of my mind.

She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. I notice her clenching and unclenching her fists a few times. She's silent for a few moments. She opens her eyes and smiles warmly at me. Her body relaxes and her hands are not flat on the cold metal surface of the table. Realization hits her. She knows I know what just happened. I can feel myself looking at her with desire and longing. My breathing is a little fast. Her cheeks are getting red and she looks away to a random spot on the ground.

I shake my head and collect myself. Slowly, I reach out and gently place my hand on top of hers. I keep myself from gasping. Touching her skin sent a feeling I've never known through my being. Her eyes shoot to mine and there's innocence mixed with embarrassment, remorse, shock and awe. "It's okay," I say. "It's okay to want things. You didn't do anything wrong."

Her mouth opens slightly. Her face flushed with red. She tries to speak and nothing comes out. She clears her throat and looks away again. I know realize she avoids eye contact when she's about to say something that's hard for her. "I just…" she starts, her big emerald eyes bore into mine, nervous and so very vulnerable. "I don't want to disrespect you. Or make you feel disrespected. It's my shit. I used and abused women all the time in the past. I've done it sober too. I don't want to be that person. And I especially don't want to do it to you. I'm also embarrassed… I lost control for a moment and I…"

"Lexa," she looks at me apprehensively. "You didn't do anything wrong. You're setting ridiculous standards on yourself that you're never going to achieve. You didn't disrespect me. You wanted to kiss me. There's nothing wrong with that." She's a nervous mess now. She's trying so hard to keep eye contact. I can't help but smile at her. It seems to calm her slightly. "I wanted you to kiss me," I say lowly. Her breath comes out rigid and slow. Are hands are still touching. It's doing things to me I can't explain. "I've wanted to kiss you countless times since we've been sitting here. Since we got into your car and started talking really. There's nothing wrong with it. You've been doing nothing but showing me respect. And if we're being honest," I start as I take a deep breath, "it's done nothing but make me want to get to know you more. You're fascinating to me. I would spend all day and night talking with you and trying to break you down if I could."

"Do you have to leave? Have I kept you?" She looks concerned and tries to pull her hand away. I lace our fingers together and squeeze her hand. She freezes. Maybe for the same reason I do. There's a fire igniting in me. Something I've never felt before. I've felt things like this before, but it's never been this. My hand in hers is soothing, comforting, calming. At the same time, it's raging, full of heat and want. It's safe and unsafe all at once. I feel fear again for a moment. Fear of the unknown. Fear of how this could hurt me if I choose to walk down this road I'm starting to travel on. I ask God to remove it right then and there, to show me what it is I'm supposed to do. Suddenly, I feel content. I feel God so strongly. I feel… something I'm not willing to contemplate, let alone admit.

I realize my eyes have been closed since our hands connected. I open them and find Lexa looking at our hands, her face expressing everything I'm feeling. I squeeze her hand to get her attention. When our eyes meet, there's intensity I've never seen before. It's level and assured, but utterly catastrophic. "Are you trying to change the subject?" I finally let out with a smirk. She sheepishly smiles back at me.

"Maybe… but it wasn't intentional." She's biting her lip again, thinking. God, she's already killing me in the sweetest way. "I did actually get worried that I was keeping you from something."

"What time is it?" I watch her reach into her pocket and check her phone.

"Seven Twenty-Six." She places her phone on the table and looks back at me. She's not remotely trying to get her hand away from mine. The thought makes my heart smile.

"I unfortunately have to go home. I have an engagement tonight. Would you please drive me home?"

"I don't want to, but I will," she smiles shyly at me. Her cheeks are tinting. Happiness spreads across my face. I reach down with my free hand and grab my small backpack. I stand, keeping my hand in hers. She's staring at our interlocked fingers. She looks bewildered.

"Are you coming?" I'm grinning at her. She's so fucking cute. I can't even handle it. She grabs her phone and puts it back in her pocket as she stands up.

"I mean, you kind of need me if you want to use my car," she jokes with me, a grin on her face.

An idea pops up in my head. I probably shouldn't, but I'm going to. I take the step between us and lean in. Our faces are now inches apart. Her grin disappears and her lips part. This is starting to backfire on me. I'm forgetting my plan. Being this close to her is intoxicating. Everything in me wants to grab her and show her everything I've been thinking. I swallow and regain my composure. I grab her keys from the belt loop on her jeans and jingle them in her face. "I think I can manage on my own." She cracks a smile and lets out a huff with a laugh. She shakes her head and laughs more. Her free hand makes its way up my arm and my breath catches. I freeze. Her fingertips dancing across my skin have me in a trance. Slowly, she removes the keys from my hand.

"Are you sure? It seems to me like you need my assistance." She's wearing a half smile. And fuck yes, I need assistance. I just realized how much my entire body needs her assistance. I step back and shake my head at her. I turn and lead her to the parking lot, keeping our fingers interlocked.

We get in the car and she looks at me expectantly. I raise my eyebrow. "Can I help you?" I ask sarcastically.

"Uh, yeah, I need you address," she says as she waves her phone a little.

"Why? So you can stalk me?"

"Yes, that's exactly why." She's sincere when she says it. She's staring blankly at me, waiting patiently. I love this women's sense of humor.

"If you were a good stalker, you'd already have it," I roll my eyes as I grab her phone.

"Listen, I've just started this new campaign with you. Cut me some slack."

I hand the phone back with fake agitation. "You had one job. You're clearly not cut out for this line of work."

She puts the car in reverse and smiles. "We all make mistakes. I promise I won't wake you when I'm watching you sleep."

"Better fucking not. I need my beauty sleep."

"You're naturally beautiful." I look at her. Her eyes are glued to the road. I'm smirking. "That's why I picked you. It's really disappointing when you pick someone to follow around and find out they're actually ugly inside and out. It's like a betrayal. Gotta kill em after that. Fucking liars."

I laugh loudly. I'm still watching her. She knows it. Her face is heating up. "How do you know I'm not actually stalking you and just letting you believe you're the one stalking me?"

She glances at me quickly with a fake pondering expression. "Well, if that's the case, feel free to wake me up when you're watching me sleep. We can cuddle and talk."

"Oh no! Well now you've ruined it! You've taken all the satisfaction out of it!" I lightly smack her arm to exaggerate my fake hurt. She laughs and I'm in heaven.

A silence settles. My eyes are glued to her. I'm intently watching every move she makes. She mainly drives with one hand and keeps the other one resting on the stick shift. She bites her lip every time before she changes lanes. At one point, she sticks her chest out in an attempt to crack her back and my face becomes flushed. A wonder if she does it on purpose. I can't tell because she seems to be paying attention to her driving.

"Can I ask you a question?" She breaks the silence, quickly glancing at me.

"Maybe." I shoot at her, grinning. She glances at me again and realizes I'm teasing her.

"So you're attracted men and women?"

"Yes."

"So how does that work?"

"What?" I ask in disbelief. She's smiling mischievously. Now I'm intrigued. She's baiting me. "Well, I mean it depends on the day and my mood really."

She rolls her eyes and glances at me once more. "No, but seriously, how does it work for you? Because, I'm gay, in case you didn't know."

"I would have never guessed." I fake shock. She lightly smacks the side of my leg. I get chills.

"I have some friends who are bisexual. They all have different preferences. My one friend, only likes black men and white women. That's it. They're rules for her. My other friend prefers men, but every so often she goes nuts over a woman. So I'm seriously asking you, what your preferences are."

I'm silent for a moment. I can see she's getting nervous. She's afraid she's offended me. She hasn't. I'm just shocked because no one has ever asked me so bluntly before. "First, give your first friend my card and we'll talk."

"Very funny," she smiles. Good. I want her to know I'm not upset.

"Second, I don't know if I have an accurate answer. I've been in relationships with men of different ethnicities and back rounds. Same with the women I've dated. Physically, the only thing they've had in common were tattoos and beautiful eyes. Emotionally, they were all fucked like I was."

"How many serious relationships have you been in?"

"Two when I was using and two since I've been sober." She's silent. She has another question she wants to ask but she's not sure if she should say it. "Ask me."

"Who did you date when you were using and who did you date when you were sober?"

"Are you trying to figure out if I only dated women when I was using?" She's silent once more. I knew it. She's afraid I don't really like women. I'll ask her why she's afraid of that later. I laugh and keep talking. "I dated Bellamy and Nylia while I was using. And while I was sober, I dated Wells and Jessica."

"Alright, two for two."

"Have you ever dated a man?"

"No," she states, as if it's obvious. To be fair, it kind of is. She oozes gayness. I have no other way to say it. It's not how she dresses. It's not her hair. She's not the stereotype people think of. It's her vibes, her body language; it screams it.

"You always knew you were gay?"

"I didn't even know there was a word for women who like women until I was twelve. I just knew I liked other girls a little more than most of my friends did. No one ever talked about it, so I didn't. Then one day, this kid in my class called me a lesbian. I had no idea what it meant. But he said it in such a derogatory manner, I got mad and beat him up. When my mother came to the school to get me, I told her what the boy said to me. She like fucking high fived me. Then I asked her what it meant, and she laughed and told me."

I'm laughing. I can't handle her. "Did you normally hit people?"

"Only when I felt like they were being mean or putting me down."

"I see. Remind me to never do either of those two things."

She stops the car. We're at a red light. She looks right into my eyes. "You wouldn't do that anyway."

"How do you know?" I'm still teasing her, but my sarcastic side is starting to fade away with the look in her eyes. I can feel her looking at me, all of me. It's weird and uncomfortable, but it's thrilling and warm and welcomed.

"I see you. You wouldn't."

She stares at me for a few more moments. A car behind us lays on it's horn. The light is green. We both laugh as she begins to drive again.

"Do you have a preference?" Lexa randomly asks.

"With what?"

"Like men or women? Do you have a preference?"

I shake my head. I really need to ask her why this is a big deal for her. "Honestly, no. When I'm interested in someone, I'm interested. I can honestly say that the sex I've had with women is better than almost every man I've slept with. Incomparably better."

"Oh." Her cheeks are flushed and she's thinking again. "But how…"

"Just say it." I state calmly. She can ask me anything. She might not know it, but she can.

"Say you're in a relationship with a woman and you suddenly want a man. What happens then?"

I laugh at the question. I can't help it. "It doesn't work that way."

"How does it work then?" She glances at me once more. There's sincerity in her eyes. I reel myself in and stop laughing.

"If I want to be with someone, I only see them. I only want them. Man or woman, it doesn't matter. If I'm into someone, I only have eyes for them. That's not to say I never find anyone else attractive. That's a human thing, no one can help that. But if I'm with someone, I'm all in."

"Okay… But what if you're with a woman and you want a dick?"

"Are you really asking that question?" I laugh out. It's like she's twelve.

"Yes." She shouts sarcastically.

"That's what strapons and toys are for."

"It's that simple? It's not different from a real one?"

"Well of course it's different." I slap her leg. I watch her intently. Her breath catches from the quick touch. "But here's the thing, there's different kinds of sexual acts, obviously. If I want a sexual position or penetration in a way I could have with a man, and I'm with a woman, the strapon is just as satisfying, if not more satisfying sometimes. Again, if I'm with someone, I want them. It's not about the sex. Yes, sex is part of a relationship, but the sex doesn't make the relationship. It's important, but it's not everything. And to be honest, when I've been with women, I usually don't want to use a strapon. I'm not saying I never do, I just want to feel them. Their skin. Their touch. I'm seeking connection with them."

She's silent and her face is heating up for the millionth time. She clearly doesn't talk about sex a lot. At least, not with someone she's interested in. I talk about it all the time. It's my job. I've done tons of work on it with step work, God, and seeing my own therapist. It's so fucking cute to me, how she slightly squirms with this conversation. I keep finding myself thinking that I want to open that sexual door for her. Not in a therapist way.

We finally pull up in my driveway. She puts the car in park. She looks at me and I'm drowning in a forest of greens and yellows again. Her eyes are like fall. There are specs of brown in them that I'm seeing for the first time. I break the silence. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Ask me anything you want." The vulnerability in her eyes makes my heart clench. If she keeps looking at me like that, I can't be help responsible for what I do.

"Have you had a bad experience with someone who's bisexual?"

"Yes." I'm surprised by her quick response. I wait patiently for her to continue. "I've talked to a few. They always pick the guy. To be fair, it was all a game with those women. It still hurt my ego. But my last girlfriend, we were together for three years. She relapsed and I found out, so I left her. She was dating a man a week later. And I'm almost positive she was talking to him a while before her and I broke up. Again, it hurts my ego. But it also touches wounds I have. I spent my childhood feeling constantly rejected and inadequate. I spent my entire life feeling that way. But as a kid, I was treated that way. So yeah, I get scared when a woman says she likes both genders. Fear kicks in and all I think is everyone is the enemy. But if I trust someone, no one is the enemy. It's all my own baggage and wounds. I'm aware and I'll admit it. But that's why I'm curious."

I'm taking it all in. I understand it. I've been rejected by my parents. I've felt inadequate. On and off my entire life, I've had feelings like those. I've been cheated on, had people leave me. I understand. But that's not me. I feel the need to make that clear. "I'm not any of those people."

"I know-" I put my hand gently on her lips. She stops talking and just looks at me. I swallow the lump in my throat and move my hand to the side of her face. My fingertips are resting on the back of her neck and my thumb is lightly rubbing her cheek. I almost regret my decision to touch her. Because now it's hard for me to concentrate on anything other then kissing her. I close my eyes and ask God for help. When I look at her again, she's staring at me with awe and wonder. My heart fills.

"I'm not going to sit here and say I've never played games with people in my life. I have. I've cheated. I've lied. For most of my life, I've been a shitty partner in all kinds of relationships, especially sexually intimate ones. But I've been sober for a little while and I've been working on my relationship with God and doing my best with all the things I need to do. I'm a different person. And the person I am today isn't any of those things. If I want someone, I want them and only them. I'm not any of those people. This isn't your past. And your past will only repeat itself if you make it happen. I'm interested in you, Lexa." She takes a deep, shaky breath. I'm not going to acknowledge the intensity of emotions I'm feeling right now. I don't want to believe it's possible to feel this way already. "I want to know you. I want to learn you, inside and out. I want to walk down this road with you and see where it goes. I want to take the risk. I've been working the nerve up to talk to you for over a month. And before then, every time I've seen you, you've intrigued me. Do you want to try this with me? Talk to each other. Go on dates. See where this goes? I want to. I really, really want to."

"Yes," she whispers out instantly.

I smile in a way I never have before. I lean in and I kiss her cheek. I probably linger a few moments too long, but I don't care. I pull back and just stare into those fucking gorgeous eyes. I really can see her in there. I can't get enough. I want to know everything. I want to know her in a way I've never known anyone. I want to feel all of her. There it is. Those intense feelings I don't want to acknowledge. Why fight it? It's scary. Fuck it. "Hey Lexa, I lost my phone. Will you let me use yours to try and find it?"

"Did you really just use that cheesy pick up line to get my number?"

"Yes."

She laughs and so do I. God, that smile. I don't think I could ever get tired of it. "Well then, use my phone."


End file.
